


Former Lovers

by ellerean



Series: Lovers' Secrets [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He wondered how people could jump from one relationship to the next and not leave traces behind of former lovers.</i>
</p>
<p>The conclusion to the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/69667">Makoto/Miho</a> chronicles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Former Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Thought you'd seen the last of this pair, haven't you?
> 
> I _did_ promise a proper conclusion way back when.

College had helped him forget. Makoto had been embarrassed at first to tell his friends, but he was glad to have told Haru everything. Only he could talk about the high school swim club without mentioning her, could reminisce about the fun they’d all had without hinting that she’d been a part of it.

She _hadn’t_ been a part of it, Makoto had to remind himself. She’d merely been their advisor.

Haru was mostly quiet on the train ride home to Iwatobi, but that in itself was nothing new. Summer break—a time to get out of the city, to go home. Gou would meet them at the train station, though Haru didn’t know that Rin would be with her. Makoto smiled as he looked out the window. He’d see his family soon; he’d see his friends; he’d go out for ice cream with Gou as they’d promised. It was all so simple, and there was nothing more he could’ve wanted.

Haru stood to gather his bag from the overhead compartment. The train began to slow, and the quaint station of Iwatobi came into view. Makoto saw Gou right away, jumping from the bench as the train came to a stop. Rin was beaming beside her, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We’re home,” Makoto said.

They helped him to understand love. When Haru dropped his bag on the platform to run toward Rin, when they collapsed into each other laughing and crying. Makoto slung the discarded bag over his shoulder, allowing them their reunion as he turned to Gou.

“It feels like you never left,” Gou said, holding back a laugh each time her brother sobbed.

Makoto smiled. “It’s good to be home.”

The reality of Iwatobi was unsettling; it was familiar, but with the obvious passing of time. Only one who’d lived his entire life in the small town would notice the subtle changes—the fresh coat of paint at the platform; the new vending machine outside the station. But it was the same walk home, the same peeling paint on the bridge over the river and the same crisp air he’d breathed each summer.

“See you guys later,” Rin said, waving over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs to Haru’s. Makoto looked away when his hand slid down Haru’s backside.

“Gross,” Gou said, but she was laughing.

Being home was too simple. He hadn’t understood the simplicity of Iwatobi until he’d left, until he’d had to navigate public transportation and streets with four lanes of traffic, or until spending time with friends required more a ten-minute walk across town. When Gou suggested they get that ice cream, they didn’t have to look up what street it was on or how to get there. They simply turned back onto the main road.

He hadn’t spoken to Haru about _her_ since their conversation on the rooftop. It seemed so long ago now. Makoto would like to say he’d never seen her after that day, but he’d seen her every morning in homeroom. He’d seen her at swim practices, and at meets, and she’d been there cheering them on at regionals. Gradually, Haru had stopped staring at them. When it was obvious that the flame had died, he’d gone back to focusing on the water. There hadn’t been a formal “break-up.” There’d been no conversation, but she hadn’t called him again. He’d never visited her classroom alone.

They’d selected a two-person table outside the ice cream parlor, Gou with strawberry ice cream and he with chocolate. “Is the ice cream the same in Tokyo?” she asked, while sucking on her plastic spoon.

The chocolate ice cream melted on his tongue. “This is definitely better.”

Makoto hadn’t thought about dating anyone since. He watched Gou scoop more ice cream onto her spoon, and he wondered if he could. She looked cute that day, not that she ever didn’t—but summer suited her; she looked good in her pink pastel top, and her long hair was pulled into a high ponytail. When she looked at him, he waited too long too look away. He smiled instead, and she hesitated briefly before returning it.

He was “experienced,” but he didn’t know where to start.

“Do you want to go to the park?” Gou asked, and he sighed in relief. He didn’t have to know anything.

Conversation was easy. It was Gou, and he had nothing to hide. Except . . .

“Do you have a _girlfriend_?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

“N-No!” he stammered, and she bumped his side with her shoulder when he blushed. She linked their arms together as they walked and it was natural, like Gou was the only girl who should be leaning against him.

Makoto wasn’t sure if it could be considered a date, but it wasn’t the only one. They went out again, sometimes with Rin and Haru, but most of the time they were alone.

Iwatobi was a small town, and Gou was still a part of it. So Makoto shouldn’t have been surprised when they spied Miss Ama-chan across the mall, nor when Gou called out to her. His feet were like lead as Gou rushed toward her; sweat trickled down his neck despite the cold, recycled air of the mall.

“Gou-chan!” The girls hugged, and there was nothing strange about it. “And Makoto-kun! You’re back for the summer?”

Makoto pushed his hands into his pockets. “Yes,” he said, his voice uncommonly even. He paused too long before adding, “It’s good to see you.”

She wore loose-fitting clothes, suitable for the warmth of summer. Makoto’s eyes wandered away from her face, jerked away from her chest, then hovered over her shoulder before returning to meet her eye.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Miho said. She smiled easily but her voice was strained, her movements jerky as she took a step back. Away from them; away from him. “Enjoy your time off!”

Makoto was conscious of his breathing, forcing the air into his lungs and forcing himself to breathe out again. Gou was saying something about how weird Miss Ama-chan was acting, not that this in itself was strange, and Makoto silently nodded as he tried to find his voice again. When Gou took his hand, he was able to move again.

It was the first time they’d held hands. His palm was clammy and he wished there’d been notice so he could wipe it on his jeans, but she didn’t seem to mind as they walked. He tried not to notice Miho standing outside a shop, studying a dress through the window. He wanted her to look at him instead, to stare at his reflection as they passed, to notice that he was holding hands with a normal girl his own age.

He saw Gou more than he saw Haru. She’d come over for dinner, or they’d go to the beach, or they’d run errands together for the sake of being together. It wasn’t strange for the Matsuokas to come over the hill toward his house, for Rin to jog up the stairs and for Gou to let herself into the Tachibana home. It was seldom that Makoto was there alone. But she showed up during lunchtime, when his parents were at work and the twins were at the beach with Rei. And that was the first time they kissed.

It wasn’t raw and greedy like he’d experienced before. It wasn’t gentle, either, but he expected nothing less from Gou. Desire was laced in her lips, but without desperation. It tasted of relief, of a kiss eagerly anticipated. It felt like the first.

It was her first.

“Makoto-sen— Makoto?”

She’d tried, and failed, to drop the “senpai” before. It would’ve been endearing, if he wasn’t shaking so badly. Gou hesitated, a hand hovering over his shoulder, and he wanted her to touch him. He waited for the warmth of her small palm on his shoulder, trying to push out the question of whose touch he was remembering.

“I— I’m sorry, Gou,” he said, running a trembling hand over his head. “I’m just . . .”

“It’s fine.” Her hand was on his body, squeezing his biceps as she slid closer on the couch. “I’m nervous, too.”

Had Rin never told her? Makoto nodded, unprepared and unwilling to mention it. Unable to form the words that would reveal the truth, the words that bounced around his head and threatened to spill. Not now. Not yet.

She took it slow. When they cuddled on the couch to watch a movie, he didn’t know where to put his hands. She held in her giggles as he constantly repositioned himself, his arms either too high or too low on her torso. Even across the middle was too intimate, his hand too big to fit across her stomach. She twisted toward him, tucking her legs beneath her and wrapping both arms around his waist. Makoto smiled; an arm around her shoulders was a good compromise.

There were still condoms in his desk drawer; they’d missed the box in the mad rush to rid his life of her presence. It was irrational to think Gou would find them, but he didn’t want her to. He wanted to stay on the couch, watching this movie, with his arm around her. He didn’t want to picture her without clothes or imagine how her skin tasted. He wondered how people could jump from one relationship to the next and not leave traces behind of former lovers.

The next time he saw Haru, it was a rare moment that the Matsuoka siblings didn’t accompany them. They sat on the beach, close enough to the ocean that it lapped their feet. Haru’s legs stretched out just a little more each time the water crawled up the shoreline.

“I’m going out with Gou,” Makoto said, as seawater tickled the bottoms of his feet. “Officially.”

Haru pointed his toes to touch the water. “Good.”

The Iwatobi Swim Club hosted a reunion, knowing their alumni members were in town. Haru and Makoto were greeted with cheers and whistles, and Rei escorted them around to meet the new members. Everyone knew about Haru, being a professional swimmer, and they were awed by Makoto’s former role as captain.

He’d been prepared for Miss Ama-chan, knowing she’d show up on Coach Sasabe’s arm. Makoto couldn’t decide whether they were together, nor could he decide if the heat on the back of his neck was jealousy. Sasabe seemed a little too proud, but he knew better than to try analyzing his proud grin.

They all swam, Gou included, though Miss Ama-chan assumed her usual position in a lounge chair with a parasol. She chatted with Sasabe and the club members, casting longing glances at the water. _You can swim_ , Makoto thought, looking away when she glanced at him. _I taught you how_.

“Makoto-senpai is attending university for swim instruction!” Rei announced, moving to adjust the glasses that were not on his face. He ran a hand through his hair instead. There was a murmur of satisfaction through the small group.

“You’ll make a very good coach, Tachibana-kun,” Miss Ama-chan said. She didn’t see the glare Haru shot her.

Sasabe crossed his arms over his chest. “He learned from the best! Ha-ha!”

Her presence was like a wound; it didn’t ache until it was noticed, and then it burned with the realization of its existence. Makoto could’ve ignored the pulsing gash but then she’d spoken, his hair standing on end though his body was warm. He dipped into the pool to his neck, feeling exposed in the swimsuit they’d all seen him in countless times before. Miho tilted her parasol to shield her face from the sun, but still had a full view of the water. Makoto turned away, but the fire of her gaze burned the back of his neck. Gou paddled toward him and wrapped both arms around his torso. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

He was nearly sitting on the bottom of the pool, so when she stood up straight she towered over him. It wasn’t unpleasant. “Are you feeling okay?” She whispered. “We can leave.”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine!”

Miho’s presence followed him; he was aware of it, creeping over his skin when he got out of the pool and watching as he toweled off. He draped the towel around his shoulders, even though his skin cried out for the sun’s warmth. It wasn’t until Haru sat beside him on the bench that his muscles unclenched.

“Haru,” he whispered, as everyone around them bustled. “You never told me what you said.”

Haru inclined his head. Though months had passed, he didn’t need clarification to the question. All Makoto knew was that at some point, all those months ago, it had ended. “I told her I knew,” he replied, his voice low. “And she had to stop.”

Makoto frowned. “That’s it?”

Haru shrugged. “It was illegal, Makoto.”

He had a girlfriend now. on actual _dates_ , and calling each other in the presence of family. Their friends knew. Rin hadn’t tried to kill him. He considered that this was _normal_ , that this was how it was supposed to be.

When Gou came over to the bench, she sat so close that she was nearly on his lap. She squeezed his biceps in both her small hands, and he flexed a little to make her swoon. Sometimes, it didn’t take much—her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his arm. He didn’t even notice that Haru had left until he was diving into the pool.

“Ready to go?” Makoto asked, and she nodded against his shoulder. They were the first to leave, waving to everyone at the gate in lieu of making the rounds to say goodbye.

No one was home at the Matsuoka residence, but Makoto accepted her invitation to come inside anyway. He hadn’t seen their mother since elementary school, but her invisible presence weighed on his shoulders as Gou kissed him in the living room. Never mind Rin, whose location was a mystery after not being attached to Haru that afternoon. He could return at any moment, which did little to ease his anxiety.

But Gou pushed him onto the couch—he didn’t even fit, and his legs dangled over the arm—and was hesitant even as she crawled on top of him. Like it was the first time she’d had a boy alone. She tasted like innocence, despite her force; her tongue worked with inexperience, which he was ashamed to have noticed. His body trembled with secrets and unspilled confessions.

“Gou,” he managed to breathe, her hands through his hair, her mouth on his mouth . . . “W-Wait.”

Makoto hadn’t considered her curious look when he’d requested to stop, nor what he would say after. “What?” Her tone was a mix of concern and annoyance. She folded her arms and propped up on his chest, her mindlessly stroking his muscles.

“I . . . I have to tell you something.”

Her shoulders straightened in interest.

“I want you to know that . . . I . . . I-I’ve been with someone. Before.”

_Before_. Before he knew better; before his friends had been forced to end it.

“You had a _girlfriend_?” she asked, incredulous. She smirked, tracing a lazy finger across his collarbone. _“Makoto-senpai.”_ But when he didn’t return her smile, she went suddenly serious. She sat up, straddling his waist, and he sat up as well with some effort. She plopped down to the cushion between his thighs. “Do you mean you’ve had _sex_?”

Makoto ran a hand through his hair. It was a conversation he wanted to bypass, something he wanted her to _know_ without having to discuss it. She sat back a little, just enough to see his entire face. To read the conflicting emotions across it.

“It’s not something I’m proud of,” he admitted.

Her hug was soft, and not simply because of the breasts flattened to his chest. He closed his eyes and returned the embrace, rocking back and forth in the confined space of the couch.

“It’s okay,” she said. She kissed his collarbone, unable to reach his face without moving.

He should’ve said more, before they began to kiss again. Gou had been _there_ ; she’d been an innocent bystander as he’d spiraled out of control, the tension heavy at swim practices and meets. He wondered if she’d felt it, if she’d sensed when he’d been changed. Gou’s hands slid up the back of his shirt, roaming his back like she was ticking off the names of each of his muscles. He didn’t mind. It was a different sort of admiration than he was used to, one who admired his body not simply because it was a body.

He recalled standing at swim meets, knowing the eyes of strangers drank him in. His skin warmed with the memory, of Miho— _Miss Ama-chan_ —as a spectator, her gaze steady and focused as his body moved in the water.

Gou’s cheeks were flushed, like she was still getting used to physically expressing admiration. Makoto kissed the corner of her eye, like the conversation was over and he’d revealed all that he could. Like his chest didn’t still boil with deceit.

 

* * *

 

When Rin appeared at his front door the following day, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Rin jerked his head and turned around, indicating that he should follow. Makoto closed the front door without a word.

“Does she know?” Rin asked, when they’d walked a good distance away from the house and curious ears.

The vagueness of his question confirmed its topic, how he would mention neither his sister’s name nor his shameful history. Makoto stared at the sidewalk beneath his feet. “Not who,” he finally said.

“Dammit, Makoto.” Rin let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s gonna suck either way. Don’t fuck this up with her.”

He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry.”

Rin clapped him on the back. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

But “sorry” didn’t cut it, not for all he felt. Not when they walked by the high school, and he remembered. When they took the street that would guide them to her apartment. When he couldn’t even look out at the beach without remembering.

“I should’ve stayed in Tokyo,” he said, collapsing onto a wooden bench.

Rin sat down beside him. “Then you wouldn’t be dating my sister.”

“Well . . . that was worth coming home for.”

“Good save.” He laughed and threw an arm over the back of the bench.

He had a date with Gou the next day, a proper date. He borrowed his parents’ car and picked her up, and they drove out of Iwatobi. Gou stuck her arm out the open window, the wind on the highway nearly flattening it against the side of the car. There was a festival in the next town over, and they dressed for the occasion. Gou’s hair was pinned into an elaborate updo, and she wore glittered eye shadow that matched her cherry blossom yukata. Makoto had worn a yukata as well; Gou had adjusted the neckline so his pecs peeked out from the top.

“That’s indecent!” he’d cried, backing away.

“Oh, come _on_.” She’d pulled the neckline down farther. “My brother wears his way lower.”

When they arrived, he was relieved to see he wasn’t the only man with his chest partially exposed. And, he had to admit, the cool summer air felt good, like it felt when he was swimming. Gou held to his arm while they walked, and it all made her smile. He bought snacks, anything he could find on a stick so they could eat and walk. A small parade went by, its musicians dancing while they sang and shook tambourines.

He enjoyed visiting a festival outside his hometown, where he didn’t know anyone. He held Gou close as they maneuvered  through the crowds, taking in the glitz and the decorations. He tried his hand at a ring-toss game, which he lost horribly, but she managed to win a small stuffed animal. She squeezed the panda in the crook of his arm.

“Aren’t I supposed to win _you_ something?” he asked, holding tight to the plush.

“Only if you _win_.” She set a hand on his chest as she giggled, keeping it there far longer than he would’ve liked in public. But then she straightened, standing on her toes in an attempt to look over the swarms of people.

Her cries of “Oh! Look!” were drowned out by the sudden buzzing in his head, the lightheadedness in _not wanting to notice_ , but there she was—Miho, walking toward them, with a man he didn’t recognize. Gou was waving her down and he couldn’t stop it, not when Miho was already moving toward them. The girls exchanged hugs, and Miho introduced her date. Makoto immediately forgot his name, even as they bowed to each other in greeting.

They talked.

Miho and Gou talked, like they’d always talked.

He blinked slowly, his smile empty, waiting for the conversation to pass.

“You look so _cute_ , Gou-chan!”

“I _love_ this color, Miss Ama-chan!”

The realization hit her belatedly. Miho took a step back to take both of them in—Gou was still on his arm, the stuffed panda safely tucked in the other. Her gaze lingered too long. Her eyes flickered to his yukata, open too wide in the front, his flesh suddenly damp with sweat. Then, she smiled. “You’re on a date,” she said.

Makoto looked away, unable to hide his grin. Pleased that she’d noticed.

“About time, right?” Gou replied.

“H-Hey!” He looked up. “What does _that_ mean?!”

Gou waved it off, but he couldn’t protest again if he’d wanted to. Not when Miho was just _looking_ at them, with a small smile that he couldn’t read. She looked away first, blushing slightly, and took her date’s hand. “Don’t let us disturb you,” she said, and waved before they fell back into the anonymity of the crowd.

“Makoto?”

He was staring at the place where she’d been standing, though the gap had been closed by the swarming festival-goers. Erasing her presence.

“I’m still hungry,” he said, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to find some squid?”

They stayed until sunset for the fireworks. The bustle of that evening had cleared out some, but they still had trouble finding a seat. They stood along a chain-link fence instead; he leaned back on it while she leaned against his chest. Her updo had started to come undone, with wisps of hair escaping from their clips and falling around her face. He tucked a stray piece behind her ear.

The fireworks burst with color, and a murmur of _ooh_ s and _aah_ s rippled around them. Gou tilted her head up, which further mussed her hair as it flattened to the exposed skin of his chest.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He hadn’t noticed Miho’s approach, standing beside him sans date. She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Do you see fireworks like this in Tokyo?”

He watched the colored bursts exploding in the sky, a welcomed excuse not to look at her. “I can’t even see the stars in Tokyo.” Gou’s giggle rumbled against him.

“Must be good to be home!”

If he’d have come up with a confirmation or a denial—neither of which he could decide—his answer wouldn’t have have been heard anyway, for a burst of fireworks cut off all conversation. The sky was alight with an unceasing stream of color. Miho squeezed his biceps, freezing him to his spot, and then walked away, making any reply unnecessary. He rested his lips atop Gou’s head, and knew she felt when he breathed in deep.

She was quiet on the ride home. The passenger-side window was open, and she closed her eyes as the wind ruffled the loose strands of hair around her face. Makoto drove one-handed, the other rested on Gou’s thigh. She mindlessly traced his fingers and bones up to the wrist.

“Tell me something,” Gou said, when they pulled up to her house.

He turned off the engine. They sat in the dark of the car, which was slightly illuminated by the moon and the porch light that her mother had left on. There were no other lights on in the house; he wondered if Rin was even there. It was a tight squeeze when he sat sideways on the seat to face her, folding one leg beneath him and his knee jamming up to the gearshift. “What is it?”

It was more unnerving that she hesitated, running her fingers along the hem of her yukata. “Your girlfriend”—he swallowed hard—“did you meet her at college?”

He was going to die. Rin would hold him down while Gou plunged the knife into his heart. The first time he attempted to reply, it came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat. “No, it was . . . before that.”

Gou jerked away. She hid her hands in the folds of her yukata, away from his attempts to hold them. To explain. “Oh, my God.” She breathed slowly, a failed effort to calm down. “It was _you_.”

Makoto frowned. “What?”

“The box. It was yours. It was _her_.”

He blinked slowly, but his mind was running too quickly to follow a straight path. Gou gripped the door handle like she was ready to bolt, but she just sat there. She put one hand on a flushed cheek, then to her forehead, then she punched the dashboard with enough force that he felt it in his seat.

His eyes widened. _The box_.

Gou’s laugh was harsh as she flung the door open, but didn’t yet get out. “I wondered who would send my brother _poetry_. It’s not my brother’s! It’s . . . it’s . . .” She flew out of the car before he could form the words to make her stop, before he could explain. She left the door open as she ran to the house, and Makoto’s legs moved automatically as they followed. His long stride caught up to her quickly.

“Gou, please . . .”

“Don’t talk to me!” She shoved a hand into her purse, searching for a house key, then grunted and threw the bag against the door. She ran both hands through her hair, upsetting the clips and scattering them over the porch.

“It’s over,” he said lamely, standing several feet away from her, but not far enough out of the line of fire. She threw a flower clip at him, and it bounced off his chest. He hastily pulled his yukata closed to the neck.

“I _said_ don’t talk to me.”

Gou’s legs trembled as she crouched, but her hand was too steady when she obtained the purse. He watched her retrieve the house key and slowly fit it into the lock, turning so slowly that he could hear the weight of the bolt as it unlocked. She pushed the door open, hesitating like she had something more to say, and then she was gone.

When he returned to the car—after closing the passenger’s side door—every moment he sat without moving was a moment closer to his death. Gou’s bedroom window lit up, and the curtains ruffled as she peered out between them. But she was gone again as soon as she’d appeared. If Rin were home, he’d be storming out the door right now. Makoto sighed and called Haru anyway.

“Makoto?”

“Haru . . .” He leaned his forehead on the steering wheel, swallowing back a sob as Haru repeated his name, then again, when he didn’t answer.

“Come over,” Haru said, and Makoto started the car.

 

Rin had left by the time Makoto arrived, which was a small consolation. Haru hadn’t required explanation—it took little to understand what had happened—but Makoto had spilled every detail, down to her watching from the bedroom window.

Haru had already set up a futon for him, though he insisted he’d go home, but he liked the company now that he was lying on Haru’s floor with the stuffed panda—even if Haru was sound asleep.

_Talk to her_ , had been the resolution, which he’d suspected. Gou had calmed down, according to Rin’s text messages, but it did little to pacify him.

Makoto wanted to wait. He’d let her stew over it, let her hate him, let her do whatever she had to do before going to the house again. But when he woke the following morning, he found himself walking to the Matsuoka residence. Haru was with him and it was _Haru_ keeping the conversation going, talking for the sake of talking. He wasn’t expecting a reply, and it was a strange sort of role-reversal.

Rin was surprised when he answered the door. He eyed Makoto skeptically and then stared at Haru too long, like they were silently communicating. “I want to get rid of it,” Makoto said, his voice firmer than he’d expected.

Rin raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“The box, Rin,” Haru replied, exasperated.

Rin lifted his head, waiting for further instruction—a confirmation or refusal from Makoto, he thought—but then finished the nod and turned into the house. “Come in. I’ll get it.” As they kicked off their shoes, Makoto noticed that Gou’s house slippers weren’t there. It was the only indication that she was home, for she was neither seen nor heard as they waited in the living room.

Rin came back downstairs too quickly, like he hadn’t had to search for it long. The old shoebox didn’t seem as big as he remembered. It was improbable that two years were crammed into it.

Makoto held it in both hands, the box looking fairly indistinct from the outside. While it had been expertly taped before stashing it away, it was clear that someone had slit around the edges and then re-taped them. The new layer peeled off easily, like a zipper, for him to open the lid.

It was mostly papers, as he’d remembered. A poem she’d copied for him; pages torn out from an old swimsuit catalogue. Haru lifted her house key from the box, and silently removed the orca keychain.

“This is yours,” he said, dangling the empty keychain in front of his face. Makoto nodded and put it into his pocket.

“We can toss it,” Rin said with a grin, “or have a little backyard bonfire.”

It didn’t require much—a small pile of kindling, a book of matches. Rin arranged the kindling on a rock as Makoto slowly went through the papers one last time.

“It’s not much,” he said, hastily bypassing a bikini-clad advertisement.

Rin jumped back as the kindling sparked into a flame. “Seems that way now, doesn’t it?”

“Ready?” Haru asked.

But the back door slammed and they all turned, watching Gou kick off her house slippers at the last minute before cutting across the grass. “What are you _doing_?” she asked, jogging up to them.

“Burn party,” Rin replied.

She quickly glanced at the papers in Makoto’s hands, and he was glad that the poem was at the top—and not one of the many swimsuit catalogue pages. “You can’t . . .” she started, her voice soft, “that’s . . . your memories.”

Rin threw his hands into the air.

“I . . . want to,” he said, holding the first paper far above the flame. It wasn’t close enough to catch, but his hand was still warmed by the small fire. “It’s over, Gou. It’s been over for a while.”

She took a deep breath, looked to each of their stony faces, and then firmly nodded.

Makoto lowered the paper, jerking his hand away the moment the corner ignited. It was devoured immediately, the fire sputtering black ash. He held out the stack of papers like an offering. “Does anyone want to try?” he asked.

Gou was the first to grab from the pile. “She has a nice body,” she mused, staring at the old advertisement.

Rin kneed her in the leg. “Gou!”

“Fine, fine!” She dropped the paper onto the miniature bonfire, watching it contract and crackle as it disappeared into nothing.

The house key they buried, digging deep into the ground before smoothing over the dirt. In another couple weeks the grass would have grown over, and they’d never remember its exact location. Makoto wiped his palms on his shirt, watching the fire destroy the last remnants of the box’s contents. He wished he had more to burn, if for no reason than to prolong the occasion. Ultimately, the fire died out on its own, having little else to feed it with. Haru poured a handful of dirt over the kindling to extinguish the last of the embers.

“Me and Haru are going to grab something to eat,” Rin said, jerking a thumb toward the house. “Wanna come?”

Makoto watched the last trails of smoke snake toward the sky. “I should get—”

“Of course we’re coming,” Gou said, grabbing Makoto’s hand. “I’m starving.”

Rin and Haru lead the way, perhaps deliberately. They were far enough ahead that they could be seen, but not heard, as Makoto and Gou followed. “Don’t think this gets you out of it,” Gou said, holding too hard onto Makoto’s hand.

He nodded obediently. “I know.”

“Hmph.” She lifted her chin, walking a little faster, though it still didn’t match Makoto’s stride. Though her grip was too firm, she was still holding on. That, at least, was something, even if it wasn’t complete forgiveness.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered.

“You better.”

The prospect of the conversation was somehow worse, knowing that she anticipated it—and that they’d likely have it right after lunch. But Haru held the door to the restaurant open for them, and Rin requested a table, and at that moment, there was no past. There was only the four of them seated around a table, arguing over appetizers, and Gou sitting across from him with a foot linked around his ankle.

_Thank you_ , he wanted to say, but their proximity was enough.


End file.
